


Worthless Lives

by GalaxyAqua



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Talent Swap, Despair, F/M, Kiyotaka Ishimaru is mentioned as Peko's brother, Minor Character Death, Swearing, Yakuza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 11:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4519572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyAqua/pseuds/GalaxyAqua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is nothing to be misunderstood about their relationship – Peko is the daughter of yakuza blood, and Fuyuhiko is her tool. Even when the world ends, that's all they will ever have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worthless Lives

**Author's Note:**

> hello useless kuzupeko talentswap with each other au? also please tell me if it's confusing, because I'm a terrible judge and I just want to know that this is actually readable and not some massive mesh of thoughts or something
> 
> edit: changed fuyuhiko's sister's name to natsumi to align with canon

Her roots lie deep and true – she is the daughter of yakuza blood. Peko knows not why her father needs to tell her this on a daily basis, but what she does as the eldest child is listen obediently, never with a hair out of place. It is decided that she will succeed him, and that is final. There is no room for arguments.

The moment she turns 18, Peko Pekoyama will be confined to yakuza life forever.

(She hates this stupid, shitty life that she is forced to live.)

(But she will never lose to anyone, and that is why she won’t back down.)

(She hates that she is so stubborn.)

It’s not as if she was the first choice, either.

Kiyotaka, her younger brother, is becoming alarmingly more and more morally upstanding. He will not succeed their father in line. He’s a good boy. He’s packed his bags and made his future plans before their parent could utter a single word. Peko is jealous. It must be nice, being loud and brave.

All she has is Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu, and a gang to follow her every order. She does not want that. She wants to make something out of herself, and become the best goddamn woman society will ever know – away from the yakuza, away from feeling uncomfortably controlling and tyrannical, away from relying on useless people who can’t solve anything without resorting to bullshit traditions of valor and violence, away from everything.

If she feels anything else, it is the desperate need to at least get away enough to give freedom to Fuyuhiko, who has been her only companion since childhood. He didn’t deserve to be shackled to her. And she does not want to rely on anybody to make her way through life; including him. What good is a ‘tool’ that a master does not want, anyway?

He’s really just a pile of useless shit.

(But she can’t let him go.)

(She can’t be without him.)

(He has her fucking soul in his blood-stained hands.)

To his credit though, Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu is the perfect hitman. If Peko is to choose between herself, Kiyotaka and Fuyuhiko – she is sure that the last would prove to be the most suitable heir to the clan. However, as it is, he is not of _yakuza blood_ and therefore can serve no other purpose than to act the guard for the cold, cruel heiress Peko did not want to become.

She almost wishes Kiyotaka would learn to overcome his disastrous range of emotions to take their father’s place, but she knows, admittedly quite fondly, that he would never be able to do it. Her younger brother cared too much about abiding by law and doing only good for others; he would not ever raise a hand against another human being without a just purpose.

He would never dirty his hands the way _Peko_ does.

(He leaves all the goddamn responsibility to her.)

(Doesn’t he know how much it hurts?)

Rather, regrettably, the way _Fuyuhiko_ does – because he is always so adamant to do the killing for her. To keep her; she who was born of yakuza blood and of a strikingly vengeful mind, and her hands clean.

(She doesn’t want to rely on him for these things.)

Peko hates it. It is not because she wants to kill them herself, but rather because she doesn’t want it to mar him. To hurt him. To rely on him to do a job he never even wanted. She’s sure sometimes that Fuyuhiko’s gruff mask slips, just a little, and he’s pained. Guilty with the eradication of lives that could have lived longer. It couldn’t get easier, having to do things like that.

Peko wants to say she’s sorry, she really does.

But Fuyuhiko will not accept her apology, because he always says the same damn thing, over and over. “I’m your fucking tool. I do what I’m told, no matter what bullshit orders I get from your pops; and you, by the fucking way, do not have the right to apologize to me, unless you think I’m being less than satisfactory and you want me to end up in the trash.”

“I don’t need a tool like you.” Peko will always reply, crimson gaze harsh. “If you won’t even listen to me...”

“What the fuck? I’m listening, miss lady of the house, and excuse my French but I am hearing nothing but shit!”

She feels her heart constrain. She wants nothing more than to tear it out – if she were heartless and unfeeling, then maybe she wouldn’t have to put Fuyuhiko through so much trouble; through so much _agony._

(He’s the only thing she has that’s keeping her from going insane.)

(She hates this life so much.)

(Why can’t they be normal?)

(Why can’t she be independent and powerful and _free_?)

(Why can’t she appear in public without people cowering away from her?)

(Why does he have to suffer her sins, and carry her burden on his back?)

(If one of them has to suffer, why does the other have to, as well?)

(This is the worst.)

When they had first met, he had come from nothing. Just a little boy on the streets, with a dash of freckles across his narrow nose, and a child’s face (he never quite grew out of it, but people should know better than to underestimate him now) and he had smiled then, when they picked him up and took him home. Unaware of the dangers that awaited him. Unaware of what he would become.

As children, they held hands, and Peko always tried to protect him. She was the protector, and he clung to her like glue. He was always warm, and she could always see sunflowers in his eyes.

He cried as much as he smiled, back then, and it was always to her comfort – for she was never good at expressing her own emotions. He was her stone in stormy weather, and in turn, she always fought off predators when he was their prey. Then her father separated them for a month, and Fuyuhiko had never been the same since.

Now, Peko does not remember the last time she has seen him smile.

She tells him this, ever so quietly and in the manner of cold observation, but Fuyuhiko only rolls his eyes.

“You too,” he says, eyes shut and eyebrows cross.

She doesn’t bring it up again.

* * *

 

A girl arrives at the estate, one day, and Peko recognizes her as one of their underclassmen. She does not know why she is here – but to her surprise, the pretty young lady requests to see Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu.

(Fuck off, we don’t need another problem in this house.)

(What the hell do you want?)

(Leave us alone. Leave us all alone.)

Her name is Natsumi, and she is apparently his sister. Long-lost sibling. Only living blood relative. The like.  

She hears them shout expletives at one another in the room where they meet, and it ends with Fuyuhiko cursing her as Natsumi storms out of the estate, blonde hair flying and expression stormy – but without a doubt, the beautiful girl has Fuyuhiko’s eyes and Fuyuhiko’s temper, and without a doubt, they were to be drawn to each other again; a magnetic force that would only be felt by people who know how to look for it.

They look for, and find it in each other.

She’d think she’d be unhappy, with this new development, but it gets Fuyuhiko off her back sometimes, and she supposes it is worth it.

(Now if it’d give him the courage to break free from her; it would be one less problem in the grand scheme of things.)

(She’d rather suffer alone than watch him suffer, anyway.)

(Fuck it all.)

Peko is happy, when she sees them at school bickering. She’d often rather Fuyuhiko go to Natsumi during the break times, so that they can develop a long overdue sibling bond, but he doesn’t. He says his duty is to remain by his mistress’ side, as a ‘tool’. And as a roadblock to his happiness, she hates it.

“Go talk to her.” She sometimes suggests, but he doesn’t listen.

“I’m not going out of my way to do useless things like that. My orders are to accompany you at school, and I’m not leaving you for a second.”

Peko grits her teeth, and says no more.

Instead, she watches that girl with the pretty blonde hair and the freckles and the fiery eyes, and thinks about herself and her own brother – and what would Peko be if they forbade her to see Kiyotaka, she wonders. What would she be if her goody-two-shoes little brother was disowned and left to die on the streets?

She would not be able to live with herself. She tries harder, for the sake of Fuyuhiko and Natsumi, to keep their bond growing strong and beautiful – just like the sunflowers in their eyes. Sometimes, Fuyuhiko won’t listen, but Peko can see things in his face. They know each other much too well to hide.

(Make him happy. Make him smile again. If he doesn’t smile again soon, she’s afraid he never will.)

“It’s fine,” Natsumi laughs, when Peko confronts her about it. “I’m just glad to know he’s alive. And you’re really looking after him, so thanks.”

“Feh, well, rather, he is looking after me. Like the little shithead he is.” The yakuza heiress admits reluctantly, silver head swaying from side to side as she does so. The frame of her glasses bounce lightly on her nose.

“You’re sweet,” the blonde smiles, and shrugs, “I’m glad, either way. I knew he couldn’t have died that easily. That’s why I came looking for him.”

Peko does not know how to respond, so she doesn’t.

“Anyway,” Natsumi continues, brushing straw strands from the freckles on her cheeks. “Don’t worry about us, okay? You’ve probably got better things to do. The little people like Fuyuhiko and I will just bow and grovel at your feet.”

“You musn’t!” She wants to protest, before remembering her place and instead saying: “Are you fucking with me?”

“Not any more than my brother is.” Natsumi grins, and nods her speedy departure. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet up with Sato and Koizumi, so I’ll catch you later, okay?”

* * *

 

Peko doesn’t know if she finds it amusing or alarming that their estate has seemed to start a trend in attracting beautiful blonde underclassmen, because mere weeks later, a young fashion model (a first year, if her memory serves her correctly) shows up at their doorstep and speaks of terrible, terrible things.

Someone, at Hope’s Peak, had been murdered.

Peko wishes she were alone to receive the news; so she could have at least been prepared for what was to follow after:

Natsumi Kuzuryuu was dead.

Everything from then on goes downhill.

(You were going to bring him back to life, Natsumi.)

(But you destroyed him instead.)

The girl from that day – Peko calls her the messenger at times, yet other times she is the devil, because her pretty petal lips smile in satisfaction at the sight of despair – is awfully persistent in her visits from then on out.

The heiress learns that her name is Junko Enoshima, and that she had a proposition. An agenda she wanted to address. But no matter how many times Fuyuhiko spat at her, or however many times Peko has sent her away from the house – she would never tell of her motives, exactly, claiming something foolishly idiotic like ‘it’s not the right time yet, I’ll keep you in suspense’.

But then Fuyuhiko commits his first independent kill; vengeance for the sister he barely got to know, when he hunted and brought his wrath upon her killer. Peko is furious, for his sake, but says nothing. He is not her property. She cannot control his actions.

On that same night, he cries silently, and Peko turns her cheek and pretends not to notice.

(Oh god, I’d rather anything but to see his tears.)

(Yakuza are not meant to cry.)

(If father finds out, Fuyuhiko will have to leave forever.)

Junko is the first to know about the revenge murder, the first to knock on their door and wrap her dainty little fingers around Peko’s chin and say, “This is it. This is where it all begins.” And her blue eyes are just like the ocean, when she follows with, “If you don’t want him to be taken away from you, then you must listen closely to me! Every single word I say will fill you with utmost despair!”

Junko fills her mind with tales upon tales, of blood and death and hatred and revenge, and all the horrific things Peko despises about her own yakuza heritage – but must accept as part of her identity, because it runs through her veins.

Junko tells of torture and torment, of destruction and decay. Peko can’t stand it. She would have half a mind not to listen, and to argue with the feisty thing, if Fuyuhiko had not stood up and _agreed._

“How dare you,” Peko thunders in her mind, already high-strung from her madness fueled by that devil of a fashionista. “How dare you agree with her, and not with me. I am your one and only master.”

“Fuyuhiko,” is what actually emerges from her mouth, a dangerous glint in her crimson eyes.

“I’m not tellin’ you to listen to Enoshima.” He affirms with a growl, and a furrow of his eyebrows. “I’m just tellin’ you to straighten the fuck up and become the _yakuza queen_ everyone wants you to be. Become a master I would be proud to serve. Own me.”

“No. I will not.” She says, but she doesn’t miss the maniacal grin that crosses Junko Enoshima’s face that night.

(You’re going to make a monster out of me.)

Much later, Peko thinks, they should have simply evicted Junko (or offed her, where no-one would find the body, in charming yakuza speak) a long time ago.

She is the start and the end of their ultimate downfall.

Despair is Junko’s game, and Junko’s game alone.

She just needed pawns.

Peko Pekoyama and Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu were two of those such pawns.  

And with all the pieces in place; the game that hailed the end of the world began.

The king of the game was an empty-headed patchwork perfect individual by the name of Izuru Kamukura. Junko was the queen, naturally. Classmates of theirs – whom Peko admits to have scorned on many occasions with Fuyuhiko, simply because they knew no better – became the bishops, rooks, knights.

(I’m a monster, and not even you can save me, now.)

Quite disturbingly, that brainless weakling Kazuichi Souda and that sniffling pushover Mikan Tsumiki lay side by side with the king and queen; terrible people, really, right down to the core. Peko had never hated anyone more.

(This feeling of despair… is so beautiful, I could strangle you harder, just to feel it in your breath and just to feel your nails upon my skin.)

Fuyuhiko grew cold. Colder than usual. He would not speak to her, and would not do much else than follow her around like a broken doll; a tool, to provide her with all her needs.

(You’re my tool. You listen only to me.)

And sick to the bone, Peko used him. He was her tool, after all. She had the right. They killed. They slaughtered. They grew contemptuous and unpredictable and so full of loathing and despair that if Junko had said the word, they would have thrown themselves away – lives as dull and worthless as a sheet of blank white paper. Pawns, the lot of them.

It felt so good, to be a marionette under Junko’s skillful hand.

But then Junko is executed in her own all-consuming fit of despair, and they are all left with nothing but themselves.

Izuru vanishes.

Without a king or queen, the pawns are even more useless than they were before.

Everything fades out, eventually. The yakuza heiress does not remember what happens after that.

(I think I forgot something important.)

(Something like, ‘you were never a tool to me.’)

(‘I needed you, but not as a tool – as a human being.’)

(‘I think maybe once upon a time I fell in love with you.’)

(‘This is goodbye, my never lover.’)

(‘May we fall into darkness and never meet again.’)

* * *

 

Peko wakes up on a sunny beach, and feels nothing but empty. She believes she had perhaps experienced some strange dream, where a talking plush rabbit spoke of being their homeroom teacher, and with a wave of her wand, whisked them all to this tropical island where they roamed today.

She wonders if it was indeed a dream, and if an entire 16 people shared it – but Fuyuhiko grumbles that it’s ‘all bullshit’ and she simply accepts, and deigns to agree.

They make a pact, on that island.

She tells him that her father will not know of what takes place there, and that she gives him full permission to roam wild and free; and then the sun in his eyes reminds her again of sunflowers and sweeping fields, though he still does not smile.

Peko looks at the people they are surrounded with – good people, it seems, much better company than the yakuza, surely – and pushes him towards them.

“Go,” she commands, in the manner that she knew would force him to listen and obey. “Introduce yourself. You have no ties to me, here.”

Fuyuhiko barely hesitates, but he turns at the last moment and with that crude mouth says ever sweet words that feel like wind breathing through her hair, and remind her of those winter nights they spent as children cuddling under stacks of fluff and down, “I’ll be there for you, whenever you need me.”  

“I know.” She whispers, and waves too, making light steps towards a refined young woman whom she intends to befriend. Just before he jerks around, she makes a motion with her hands which catches his attention, and she mouths quickly: “Me, too.”

Not once did the word 'tool' pass their lips.

He smiles, for the first time in a very long time.

If it truly is a dream, then Peko would say she would like to sleep for eternity.  

(Eternity with you, and eternity with your smile.)

(If I could have that, I wouldn’t give a damn what happened to the rest of the world.)

(Let’s sleep forever.)

(We’ll live the lives we never had.)

(I love you, my never lover.)

(All I ever need is you.)


End file.
